


Run This Town

by ObeyHeda



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, High School
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-17
Packaged: 2018-02-24 16:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2587796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObeyHeda/pseuds/ObeyHeda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan and Regina Mills have been at each other's throats since they first set foot at Hogwarts. Their six year power struggle seems set to end, however, when a letter arrives informing them that the Head Girl for their final year at Hogwarts is...both of them? Just to make things even more interesting, it’s Emma’s cousin Henry’s First Year, scouts for the Holyhead Harpies and Puddlemere United have been attending several Quidditch matches, something sticky is haunting the fourth floor corridor, and the Dark Forest appears to have some deadly new residents…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tonight is the night.

They’re both sitting at their bedroom windows, waiting for the owl that will finally settle, once and for all, which of them is the undisputed queen of the school. Oh, they’ve been going back and forth at each other for six years now, both of them making their House Quidditch teams at absurdly early ages and taking great delight in showing one another up on the pitch, both of them making Captain, both of them making Prefect (one of them by the skin of her teeth, and, she strongly suspects, more as a punishment than an honor). The last six years at Hogwarts, since Regina Mills and Emma Swan strode up the steps to the Great Hall and managed to trip one another on the way to the Sorting Hat, have been a dogfight. But tonight ends all that. Tonight they’ll know who wins, once and for all. There can, after all, only be one Head Girl.

***

Regina is sitting, hands folded in her lap, on her wide, cushioned window ledge, drapes and cushions done up in silver and green of course, as is only befitting the Slytherin Prefect and, she’s sure, Head Girl. She jumps a bit when she hears a knock at the door and it creaks open, revealing Mother, whose knocks are only for show. She’ll be coming in whether she’s wanted or not.

At this moment she’s not particularly wanted. If Cora Mills were the sort of mother to dole out comforting words and hugs, and if she had raised the sort of daughter who expected or accepted them, Regina might welcome her presence. But neither of these things are the case. Cora’s eyes rove over her daughter’s silk pajama-clad form, the tight braid she’s captured her hair in, and she lets out a little sniff. Regina straightens her already ramrod-straight posture.

“Darling, you’re up awfully late, and you know we must be going to Diagon Alley tomorrow for your books. What is it that’s keeping you from your bed? Something making you nervous?”

Cora knows exactly what Regina’s waiting for, but she wants to see how her daughter will react. Regina knows that only one thing is certain with her mother: everything’s a test. She gives Cora a cool, practiced smile. “Nothing, Mother. Just excited for tomorrow.”

Mother raises an eyebrow but chooses not to pursue it further. “Very well, darling, but not too much longer. I want to get an early start so we can be done before the shops get too busy. Goodnight, dearest.”

Regina watches her go with a sigh. Of course it won’t do to have Cora Mills and her daughter mingling among the rabble. There might be _Muggleborns_ among them for Merlin’s sake. Never mind that Cora Mills is Muggleborn herself – her mother won’t let that secret out for blood or money, and Regina is fairly sure Cora has spilled both to keep the secret safe. Officially Cora comes from relatively muddy heritage, some exotic wizarding family from Spain or Sicily or Brazil – something like that. The story seems to change every time Regina hears it. But all that matters is that she married Regina’s father, the scion of a prominent (if penniless) Pureblood family which Cora’s ruthless business acumen returned to affluence well before Regina’s birth, and that makes Regina Pureblood through and through. If only it were that simple.

Regina returns her gaze to the window, the placidity of her expression unreflective of her inner turmoil. Her father used to take her out riding on one of his Abraxans, and they’d go out until nearly midnight, looking at the stars. He’d attempted to teach her the names of the constellations but she’d not been interested, and they’d spent many an hour making up silly names for imagined star groups instead. _The Whinging Witch… The Guilty Gryphon… The Tremendous Toad…_ Such things had left her life when her father passed away, the summer before Regina first went to Hogwarts. She’d been in shock, a grieving, disoriented little First Year who had gone from casting minor enchantments at the age of eight to hardly being able to throw a spark, so dense was her sorrow. Perfect internal weather for a lifelong vendetta, and that was where Emma Swan had come in.

Brash, loud, lionhearted, lion-maned Emma Swan, who’d tripped Regina in her haste to get into the Great Hall first. From the floor Regina had spat out a perfect Leg-locker Curse, making Swan fall flat on her face in front of the entire school and vow eternal vengeance. That had been the start of it; the ways they had fought each other and set each other up to fall and just generally needled each other had been many and varied. Regina finds herself thinking of Swan with a kind of wistfulness, tempered by a bit of a flutter in her tummy: the owl that will surely arrive any minute now will put an end to their endless rivalry, as the girl will surely be so defeated she won’t even bother trying anymore. And if she does…well, Regina can remove up to forty points from Gryffindor in one go.

There – one of the stars has detached itself from the sky and is moving, getting closer and closer to her window. Regina clenches her fists tightly. This is it! The culmination of everything she’s been working for – and Mother will be so proud – and if all goes well, it’ll be Killian as Head Boy, and Slytherin will reign at Hogwarts forever and forever amen – at least until they graduate.

The owl, a snowy, drops to her windowsill and holds out the letter, haughtily staring down its beak at her with an expression that reminds her altogether too much of Mother. She takes the letter and thanks it, offering it a dead mouse that her own owl, Rocinante, killed a few hours earlier. It declines with a muted hoot. Then it’s off again into the night, and Regina shuts her window and sinks back into the seat to open the letter with shaking hands.

_Dear Miss Mills,_

_Congratulations. You have been chosen as Head Girl of this year’s class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

She doesn’t need to read any further. She throws the letter into the air and pumps her fist silently, a display she would never allow herself if Mother were present but Mother isn’t, so she lets herself loose just a little. Then she throws herself into bed, her mind racing with how Kathryn and Sydney and Killian will react when she shares the news tomorrow, but most of all that dreadful Emma Swan. At last, at long last, Regina Mills has had her revenge.

***

Across the country, Emma Swan is pacing her living room, fists clenching and unclenching. She feels like she often does before an important Quidditch match: riled up, anxious, and more than anything excited to win and rub it in Regina Mills’s perfect face. There is a part of Emma that’s still a child, small and scrappy for her age, picked on at the outset but more than ready to get into it with anyone who crosses her. And Regina Mills has crossed her, oh, more times than she can count. Ever since she embarrassed Emma in front of the entire school – she’d been known as That Girl Who Tripped for at least two weeks, before her classmates moved on to something else – Regina Mills has been a thorn in her side. They can’t seem to stop clashing: in class, on the Quidditch pitch, in the halls, at inter-House parties, and, now, over this pinnacle of achievement for which Emma’s still not quite clear on why she’s in the running: Head Girlship over the entire school.

Emma’s always had trouble paying attention in class; she’s often gotten into fights, being blessed (or cursed) with an overdeveloped sense of justice; she’s gotten high marks on exams but often forgets her homework until the last minute and winds up fudging it. But something about Regina Mills focuses her, makes her want to do better – no, _best_ – and she finds herself trying harder than she ever has in her entire life just to make the girl’s dark eyes flash, or her lip curl up with that sexy scar on it –

Emma pauses in her pacing to groan. And then _that_ started – sometime around fifth year, she noticed that Mills had gotten disturbingly pretty. More than one midair collision, when the Slytherin Chaser has gotten too close to her goalposts, has ended in a confusing entanglement that leaves Emma’s head reeling. But luckily for Emma’s grades and academic and personal achievement, she hates Regina more than she lusts after her. Although Emma’s still not sure how she made Prefect. When Headmistress Ghorm had announced her as the Gryffindor Prefect in their fifth year, Emma’s jaw had just about hit the floor. Everyone had been expecting it to be Graham.

Eventually she had drummed up the courage to go the Headmistress and ask about it outright. Ghorm had explained – in the most pedantic way, of course – that she believed Emma had the potential for greatness inside of her. Given the responsibility, the Headmistress expected her to rise to the challenge. Half of Emma wanted to rebel against the pedantry, but the other half admitted that was something she wanted – if only to see the look on Regina’s face when she excelled.

But all of that ends today. Today she triumphs, saves Hogwarts from the tyranny of the Evil Queen (as Ruby started calling her during third year, and the name stuck), and proves her superiority once and for all. There’s a large part of her that can’t wait to see Mills’s face tomorrow when they go to London, can’t wait to gloat – which of course her mother has to ruin.

“Now honey, I know it’s exciting for you, but you have to promise me you’re not going to lord it over Regina Mills if you get it,” Mary Margaret says, watching her daughter pace.

At her words, Emma whirls on her mother. “Aw, come on, Mom, that’s half the fun!”

“Emma, one thing we always say in Hufflepuff is that you need to learn to be gracious both in victory and defeat.”

Emma looks away from her mother, jaw working over the words _Well it’s a good thing I’m not in Hufflepuff then_. Even now, on the eve of Emma’s seventh year at Hogwarts, it’s still a sore point between them that she was sorted into Gryffindor and not Hufflepuff. Mary Margaret is a Hufflepuff through and through – so much so that she tried to decorate their house in Hufflepuff colors and Emma’s father, not exactly the pinnacle of taste himself but at least more sensible than his wife, had to dissuade her. Black and canary yellow looked good on the banners draped conspicuously over the bannisters, on the walls, and in the kitchen. Hufflepuff colors wouldn’t have looked good as curtains or wallpaper.

Even now, having been Gryffindor Prefect and Gryffindor Quidditch captain and having won the House Cup almost singlehandedly for Gryffindor during her sixth year (though she almost lost it singlehandedly for Gryffindor that year as well, but that’s a different story), she worries that her mother, for all of her appreciation of Emma’s achievements, can only look at her and think that all of those trophies and commendations and awards for Special Service to the School would have looked so much better in black and yellow. She worries at her lip as she looks at Mary Margaret, who looks away first.

Emma’s father, David, manages to catch her eye and give her a big grin. He’s a Muggle – he has no House loyalty, and she knows he loves her in whatever colors she wears. But that sometimes makes her feel disconnected from him: he doesn’t understand the rivalry, the pageantry, the burning desire to achieve for one’s mates and bring honor to one’s House. It’s simple with David in the places where it’s difficult with her mother, but there’s disconnect as well. She wishes there weren’t, but she doesn’t know how to prevent it.

Mary Margaret’s voice, overly cheerful to compensate for the sudden lull, pulls Emma out of her brooding. “Now remember, we need to get to Diagon Alley extra early tomorrow so we can pick up Henry. He needs so much stuff – robes, books, and of course his wand…”

Emma grins at the mention of her cousin. Henry Swan is somewhat the family’s collective little brother – his parents gone, he’s been passed around the extended Swan family for two or three years at a time. He stayed with Emma briefly when she had just started school, and she remembers the little boy who idolized her, watching with gigantic eyes as she tentatively floated toothpicks and toadstools. He’s about to start his first year, so he’s come a long way from that little boy, but she’s looking forward to him coming home with them. He’ll be staying with them for the duration of his time at Hogwarts, as Emma’s home is closest to the school.

“Yeah! And I can’t wait to show him around, and introduce him to Graham and Ruby and Tink, and I’m gonna totally teach him Quidditch on the sly and get him on the team the second he’s allowed to play, and he’ll think it’s so cool that his cousin’s Head Girl…”

“Now hold on a sec, honey,” David laughs. “You haven’t gotten it yet.”

As if on cue, a disgruntled hoot punctures the relative tranquility of the room. Emma’s at the window in one long, ungainly stride – eliciting a gasp of concern from Mary Margaret, who keeps her glass unicorn collection far too close to that window – and snatches the letter from the owl’s beak. It tries to snap at her fingers but she dodges it like a Bludger and rips the letter open.

_Dear Miss Swan,_

_Congratulations. You have been chosen as Head Girl of this year’s class at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Emma pumps her fist in the air and crows like a cockatrice. “Hell _yes!_ Mills is gonna _die!_ ” And for all that her father can lecture her on language and her mother can lecture her about good form, nothing can puncture the bright swelling bubble of victory in Emma’s chest.

***

The morning dawns bright and cold, but it’s still summer, so Emma ignores her mother’s warnings to bundle up, knowing it’ll get hot later. She’s still buzzing on the events of last night and she can’t wait to find Graham and Ruby and Tina – whom they usually call Tink, for some reason she can’t recall, but it probably had something to do with too much Butterbeer – and tell them the news. She barely slept, but she’s up at crack of dawn like it’s Christmas morning and she’s hustling her parents into the fireplace with a haphazard dash of Floo powder before they’re even really awake.

It’s close enough to the beginning of school that even this early in the morning Diagon Alley is packed. Emma could hardly care less about the list of books to be purchased and the new dress robes her parents have promised her in light of her success – she’s immediately on the lookout for her friends, but also for one Regina Mills. She _definitely_ wants to see the Slytherin princess before her enemy sees her. The girl did an independent study with Professor Gold on poisons last year, for Merlin’s sake – she wouldn’t put it past her to have something dastardly whipped up just for her.

But Emma’s not exactly the sneaky type, so of course it happens against her wishes. At the first sharp report of that low, husky, certainly-not-sexy-c’mon-what-are-you-thinking-Swan voice, she whips around like she’s been lassoed. “ _Miss Swan_.”

“Mills,” she says cheerily, even as her hand goes to the wand in her back pocket. Her first thought, however, is that the look on Regina’s face isn’t the correct one. Those eyes Emma certainly hasn’t spent any time at all thinking about should be snapping black fire at her, and her mouth shouldn’t be curled up in the sneer that Emma most certainly hasn’t named her Triumph Sneer – it should be the Fury Sneer, or the Swan You’re Going Down (Maybe On Me) Sneer. _Nope!_ Emma tells herself. _No wrong lusty feelings. Wrong lusty feelings, go away. This is your moment of triumph here, Swan. Savor it._

“Sorry to hear the news,” she drawls, pulling her letter oh-so-slowly out of her pocket. “Or wait, actually not that sorry at all.”

“Yes, I’m sure your parents must be quite disappointed,” Mills says, matching her drawl for drawl. All at once it seems to click, and they frown at one another. Regina pulls a matching letter from the pocket of her vest (why does she always look like she’s going to go riding, Emma wonders, and why does it have to be so distractingly hot?) and dangles it in front of her, letting it unfold. Emma has to squint, but she can make out the first word: _Congratulations…_

Her mouth is suddenly dry. “What? No, that’s – that can’t be –” And now she’s fumbling for her own letter, nearly tearing it in her haste to make certain that it contains what she knows it contains, that Regina Mills somehow hasn’t managed to work the black magic to make the letters rearrange themselves. But excepting the surname after the _Dear Miss_ , the letters are identical.

Emma and Regina look up from their letters at exactly the same time, their gazes meeting and catching like flames. “What,” Mills spits out flatly, her words like venom, “is going on?”

Emma can only clench her jaw and shake her head. “Honestly, I have no idea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m blown away by the reaction this chapter got! Thanks to everyone who left kudos and/or commented. I’m hoping to have this on a weekly updating schedule – I had a bad reaction to some medication yesterday, or I would’ve had this chapter up then. But if all goes well, you should see new chapters each week. Read, enjoy, and review!

They're staring at one another, minds racing with worries and fears and assumptions and fury. Regina’s nostrils flare, reaching for the wand in her other vest pocket; Emma’s eyes narrow, her hand curling slowly around her own. It seems as though the letter that was meant to crown a queen has instead set the stage for the ultimate battle royale.

Just when they're starting to consider the logistics of cursing one another on a busy street, a voice cuts brightly through the bustle.

“Emma!” Ruby Lucas calls, grinning as she waves to her best friend over the heads of the crowd. When she sees who Emma's with, though, her eyes narrow and she pulls out her wand without hesitation. “Mills.”

Regina turns her glare to Ruby momentarily, nodding tightly. “Miss Lucas.”

She’s starting to get nervous, but then she hears a loud drawl and relaxes as Killian Jones rounds the corner onto the street, laughing at something (probably stupid) with a Slytherin Fifth Year, Smee, who’s always hanging around him. Smee likes to say he’s Killian’s first mate but Killian Jones has been her best friend since they were practically in utero. Their parents were neighbors (if you could call living on vast estates that bordered one another being neighbors) and they had been cautiously introduced (one must introduce all magical children cautiously, as a spat can have unpredictable results) and approved of by their respective parents. The Jones family was old, Pureblood, and Slytherin. Killian was a suitable kind of person to have for a best mate.

Privately that had made Regina resolve to hate him, but to her surprise he had actually turned out to be not all that bad. They share a certain brand of dark humor, a willingness to bend the rules they consider superfluous, and serious issues with parental figures that even years of therapy might not fix. Killian’s been bucking his father’s authority since, to hear Sir Jones tell it, day one; and Regina’s mother is, well, Cora.

But Killian’s presence has made neighborhood gatherings over the last few years bearable; he’s gone as her date to various formal occasions, though nothing more than platonically (and to get her mother off her back), and made snide comments with her at the various gentry. Regina is certain her mother would like him to become more than her best friend, but that’s not going to happen, and she’s told her mother so very firmly (she doesn’t want to think about the punishment that engendered). They tried once in their third year, mostly out of a feeling of obligation; it had been wet and sloppy and they had both been glad when it was over.

When Killian sees who Regina is staring down, he immediately draws his wand, his position mirroring Ruby Lucas’s. Regina notices his eyes roving over the wolf girl’s low-cut shirt – not that she’d give her any grief for her condition, but her mother’s always talking about how “those animals should be put down,” and as happens so often her mother’s thoughts run through her head when she least wants them – and nudges him with her shoulder, muttering, “Eyes up.” He immediately snaps to, giving her a not-particularly-guilty grin.

The four of them have their wands out and the tension is thick enough that a butter knife wouldn’t quite do it. As so often happens in these moments, when they’re ranged against each other and something – these days it doesn’t really matter what – is at stake, the world narrows. They have eyes only for each other.

Regina has this thing, Emma’s noticed, that she does to intimidate people: she gets into their personal space, what she’s mentally termed _kissing range_. Of course, seeing as it’s Regina, it’s far more likely she’ll put a knife in your gut than plant one on your lips, but Emma can’t help the strange places her brain takes her. She struggles to keep her mind on the knife rather than the kiss. “I would say this was some kind of trick, Miss Swan, but that would require me believing you had the actual brainpower to come up with one this good,” Regina says, and that definitely helps Emma’s concentration.

It also helps that Emma's never been one to back down from a fight. As a matter of fact, someone challenging her tends to make her even more determined to give as good as she gets, and more. She takes one step closer, so close she can feel Regina’s breath against her chin. “I don’t trick, Regina,” Emma says. “When I beat you it’ll be fair and square, and you’ll know it.”

Regina’s always been better at regulating herself than Emma – she has to be, living with Cora and her constant mind games – but she can’t deny that her nemesis’s closeness is making her head spin. She’s torn between taking a step back to clear her head and standing her ground to maintain her position. The latter wins out - Regina’s lip curls, and Emma’s stomach curls with it. “Is that so? You and your Gryffindor honor. Well, I’m sure this is simply a misunderstanding. There’s no way on earth you could ever beat me.”

Emma opens her mouth to retort, but before she can – probably a good thing, as she’s not really certain what would come out of it – her mother’s voice rings through the air. “Emma? Emma! I told you not to go running off like that – it’s so crowded here today, it could take hours to find each other again – oh!”

Mary Margaret pulls up short as she catches sight of the girls, almost nose to nose, wands drawn. Her eyes widen momentarily to take in their closeness, then narrow as she realizes whom her daughter is kissing-close to, and takes in the drawn wands.

“Oh no. Absolutely not. Everybody _back off_ and put your wands away or I will be writing directly to Headmistress Ghorm. You too, Ruby Lucas! I see you muttering that curse!”

“And what, precisely, gives you the idea that you can tell my daughter what to do?” Cora Mills’s voice slides through the air like a silk-wrapped snake, all sibilance and menace. Her wand is out – an action that has Mary Margaret reaching for her own – but the flick she gives it only sends black ribbons slithering out to wrap around Regina’s wand arm, forcing it to her side. Regina huffs angrily at her mother’s restraints, but knows better than to try to do anything about them. What’s worse, of course, than being restrained is that her mother did it in front of Emma Swan, knowing exactly how she feels about the girl. Her humiliation is complete – Emma’s eyes are wide, staring at the bindings. Regina feels her face begin to burn.

Her mother’s other hand is on her shoulder, a symbol, at least, of solidarity. “Mary Margaret,” Cora says, eyes flicking from Mary Margaret’s to David, who stands there glaring at her. She doesn’t acknowledge him.

“Cora,” Mary Margaret says shortly. “I found them with their wands out. I’m hoping they weren’t about to do anything foolish, but I put a stop to it nevertheless.”

“Yes, well, seeing as it’s your daughter I think foolishness is all but guaranteed,” Cora drawls, and Mary Margaret blanches. “Still – Regina dear, do you honestly think brawling in the streets befits someone of Pure blood?”

Regina wants to crawl into the ground. She can’t look at anything but the cobbles near her boots as she mutters, “No, Mother.”

“Certainly not,” Cora says. “For those of lesser lineage – “ her eyes are on Emma – “perhaps, it’s acceptable, but it’s certainly not something I would have expected of someone of your breeding. However, we have quite a lot to do today, so we will discuss your punishment later. Come, Regina.” She begins to sweep away, tossing a bright smile over her shoulder with “Always nice to see you, Killian.” The cords are gone, but Regina follows her mother with leaden steps as though she were still bound. Killian and Smee follow.

With a heavy sigh, Emma turns to face her mother. She’s going to catch hell for this – Cora’s jibes aside, dueling is not something Mary Margaret tolerates from her daughter, either. Mary Margaret’s face is set. “I’m very disappointed in you, Emma. I thought I could trust you around that girl, but apparently I can’t. I’ll be speaking to Headmistress Ghorm about this, and you’ll be missing the first Hogsmeade weekend.”

Emma’s jaw drops. “But Mom, she was the one who – “

“I don’t care who started what! Violence is not the way to solve these things! Keep arguing with me and you’ll miss all of them until Christmas. Now come on. We need to go to the station. Henry’s train will be arriving any minute.” Mary Margaret grabs a firm hold of her husband and begins marching them through the crowd.

Emma turns to Ruby, her face sullen. “It isn’t fair.”

Her best friend gives her a sympathetic look. “That was way harsh. But I have to get back to Granny – you know how she gets when I go off on my own.” Emma did know. Despite her granddaughter’s nearly perfect record, Eugenia Lucas is petrified of the idea that Ruby might lose control of her lupine self. She must be even more terrified somewhere like Diagon Alley – full of stimulation and people, it would be the perfect place for werewolf carnage. Emma knows Ruby would never do that, but Granny doesn’t seem to. She sighs and smiles at her friend. “I’ll catch up with you later. We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron – let me know if you see Graham or Tink, okay?”

Ruby nods and starts to say something, but Granny’s already calling for her. “Ruby? Ruby Lucas! Don’t bother hiding, I can see you, girl!”

“Shit! Okay Em, gotta go. But – what’s that behind you?”

Emma turns to face whatever’s there. It’s something silvery and shining moving fluidly through the crowd, about thigh-high, four-legged – a Patronus. It’s some kind of big cat, Emma realizes as it comes to sit before her, a jaguar or a panther or something like that. It opens its mouth, and out of it comes Regina’s voice. “I assume you’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron, or some similar hovel. Meet me in the common room at half past ten, after it’s closed. I trust you can remember a simple unlocking charm, but if you can’t, _Alohomora_ should get you in.”

“And why exactly should I trust you?” Emma snaps, but before she can say anything else Mary Margaret is hailing her.

“Emma Swan! Keep this up and it’ll be the second Hogsmeade weekend!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” she shouts as she tears herself away from Regina’s Patronus, jogging to catch up with her family. Much as she’s burningly curious (and not a little apprehensive) about what Regina wants with her, she’s more interested in welcoming Henry to Diagon Alley, and to the wizarding world.

"I'll see you later,” she says to Ruby over her shoulder. “Meet me in the common room after our parents have gone to bed.”

“What do you think she wants?” the werewolf shouts as she’s being towed away by her grandmother.

“I don’t know,” Emma mutters, “but if it’s a duel, you’re my second.” Ruby nods grimly.

***

“So do you think she’ll show?” Killian mutters, watching Regina’s Patronus weave deftly through the crowd.

“Oh, she’ll be there,” Regina says. “One thing Swan is not is a coward, and she’s too curious for her own good. She won’t be able to stay away.”

They make their way through the crowded streets to Flourish and Blotts, the first stop on Cora’s punchlist. As they walk she’s practically fawning all over Killian, grasping his arm to feel his muscles and cooing about how he must have all the young ladies at his beck and call. Regina smirks privately. At least for a few minutes someone else can deal with her mother.

The moment they make it to the bookshop, they escape into the upper stacks, on pretext of looking for a book for one of Regina’s advanced Potion sessions with Professor Gold. "So...what is the plan then, love?” Killian says. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder, pretending to browse but actually keeping an eye out for their respective parents, who are having their own little lovefest. Exclamations of delight at finally seeing one another again, and humblebragging about their offspring’s many and varied accomplishments, are wafting up to them from the first floor, at a volume that makes it impossible not to hear. Both Killian and Regina are fighting nausea.

“We get to the bottom of this,” Regina says, her jaw set in a hard line. “I’ll get some Floo powder from the flat this evening and we’ll use it to contact Headmistress Ghorm. She’ll tell us that Swan’s letter was all a fluke, and she’ll never have another moment of peace at Hogwarts.”

Killian grins, but something strikes Regina as off – he doesn’t look as pleased at the prospect as she might expect. She’s about to call him on it but then Cora’s voice rises in exclamation, and Regina sticks her head over the balcony to see what’s drawn her mother’s attention. It’s her friend Katherine Midas - one of Regina’s other best friends since she set foot at Hogwarts, and quite possibly the only non-Slytherin her mother could tolerate (“Well, at least she’s a Ravenclaw, dear…they’re not so bad…”). It doesn’t hurt, of course, that Katherine’s family is of impeccably Pure blood and the richest in the county to boot.

“Oh Merlin,” she mutters. “Better go rescue Katherine from Mother, or she’ll never get away. Can I count on you?”

Killian groans, but doesn’t demur. Together they hustle down the steps to the first floor, where Killian’s father sees him and drags him into the conversation with a hearty, “And here’s my boy! Cora, have you seen Killian lately? Turning into a fine young specimen, you have to agree…”

Regina hooks Katherine’s elbow and begins drawing her upstairs, catching Killian’s eye as he mouths, “You owe me for this, Mills.”

“I know,” she mutters back. “Be there tonight.”

Safely ensconced on the second floor behind a bookcase, Katherine turns to her friend. “What was that all about? And hi, by the way.”

Regina smiles, and allows herself to be hugged. “Hi.”

She fills Katherine in on the events of the morning in one rushed breath, the duplicate letters, the almost-duel, the Patronus she sent after Emma. She leaves out the fluttering sensation she felt at having Swan so close to her, feeling the girl’s breath on her face, the bright green eyes boring into hers. She's been keenly aware of Swan’s presence for a while now, but she's always assumed it was due to hatred. This…this doesn't feel like any hatred she’s ever felt before, though. What is the tipping point between hating someone and…

_Don’t finish that thought_ , she tells herself hurriedly, and finishes catching Katherine up instead. “So you'll be there tonight? When we figure this out?” Katherine's staying with her family at the flat they keep in town, just like the Millses and the Joneses.

Katherine looks apprehensive. She's far less fond of breaking the rules than Killian, and Regina tends to take her as the angel on her shoulder to Killian’s devil when it comes to decision-making. “I don't know, are you sure that's wise? I'm sure if your mother sends an owl – "

“I don't want Mother involved in this,” Regina snaps. Hurt shows plainly on her friend’s face, so she sighs and says, “I'm sorry. I just…you know how Mother is. If I can figure this out myself, if I can just keep her thinking that I'm the only Head Girl and there was never a problem, then…” She can't finish. Neither Katherine nor Killian know the full truth of what Cora Mills is, the ways in which she makes it abundantly clear that Regina is not enough, can never be enough, and will never be enough unless she's…perfect.

Once upon a time Regina used to wish that someone would ask the right questions, would care enough or be brave enough to push past all the walls that she put up around her relationship with her mother to see the real truth of things. But it’s been a while since she stopped making wishes, and as far as the world can see it’s just perfect Cora Mills and her almost-perfect daughter. Katherine, being a Ravenclaw, is no different: her keen intellect is reserved for books, not people. “All right,” she says. “Mother and Father are having a dinner party with their cousins so they’ll be occupied pretty late. But I should be able to slip out and meet you there.”

“Good,” Regina says shortly, and starts casting around for Killian. Mother will be wrapping up with Sir Jones, and will come looking for her to move on to the next shop – probably Twilfitt and Tattings, for new robes – and if she plays her cards right she can bring Killian along as a buffer against Mother.

Before she can start to descend from the upper floor, however, something bright and silvery streaks up the stairs towards her. She braces herself – it’s a Patronus, and not one she recognizes, neither Katherine’s sleek otter nor Mother’s snake nor Killian’s gangly crocodile. It’s some kind of tall, broad-headed dog, and it bounds towards her with an oddly recognizable grin on its puppy face.

As it turns to stand in front of Regina, it becomes clear that the Patronus is, indeed, for her. Just before it opens its mouth to speak, she knows whose it is. It only has three words for her.

“I’ll be there.”


End file.
